


Helicopter Teammates

by livingtheobsessedlife



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Oblivious Avengers, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Phil Coulson, Secret Relationship, but even more, but not really mostly just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:19:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12810480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingtheobsessedlife/pseuds/livingtheobsessedlife
Summary: Clint was the last person anybody expected to allow others to fuss over him, over the most minor of burns nonetheless, and yet here he was, with Phil pushing him into chairs and preparing his breakfast for him and trying to make everything easier. It was nearly unheard of, except… maybe not so unheard of...“Here,” Phil said, stepping between the two of them and severing their questions, “Let me get the rest of your breakfast.”ORIf there is one universal fact about the universe, it's that Clint Barton can take care of himself. The Avengers can't seem to figure out why Agent Coulson hasn't figured that out yet. That's around the point that they start to let their true busy-body selves shine through.





	Helicopter Teammates

“Wow, talk about helicopter parents! Geez!” Clint said, earning him just about half a dozen slaps upside the head, and he groaned. 

“Ow! Maybe next time I have a concussion, you guys wouldn't mind not _hitting_ me?”

“Yeah, well, next time don't say rude things.” Natasha growled back, and they all kept moving in their odd collective huddle around Clint. Thor and Steve had insisted on helping their injured compatriot move about and had their arms linked behind Clint’s back to hold him up while the others just flurried about nervously. 

“I’m fine guys, really. No need to hover so much.”

“Too bad,” Steve answered, holding the door into the Tower open for the rest of them, “You’re stuck with us. We’re a team, and you’re hurt.”

“It’s not like I've never been hurt before.”

“Shut up, Barton.” Phil said, pressing pointedly into Clint’s side, “Just let your team take care of you.”

Clint just collapsed onto the couch with an exhaustive huff, “Fine, but it really isn't that big of a deal.”

Banner gaped, just a little, “Clint, you broke _both_ of your arms.”

“ _Exactly_! No big deal!”

“Sir Hawk,” Thor declared, frowning in a way that nobody ever wanted to see again, because optimistic and cheerful demigods were not meant to be seen frowning (it just looked so _wrong_ ), “We, as your comrades in arms, think it best if you stay and rest.”

“Bu-” Clint started to protest, cruelly cut off only by a bark of an order on Coulson’s part.

“Barton.” He growled, “You’re staying in bed. End of discussion.”

Clint looked like he was just about ready to explode, protest, rant, and whimper all at once. His face was turning from shade to shade and expression to expression at alarming rates, and it would all be quite comical if the entire scene wasn’t punctuated by the glaring superheroes and twin arm casts. 

“Fine,” Clint finally conceded, “But I’m staying on the couch and Tony better buy me whatever the fuck I want.”

Phil nodded curtly, settling in his odd, protective Secret Agent version of parade rest just beside Clint, and Tony grinned with a mock eye roll, “Of course, bird brain. Whatever to keep you from bitching up my walls.”

******************  

The second time Clint got dangerously injured, the Avengers had started to realize that, yeah, maybe Clint wasn't superhuman like the rest of them (one might argue that Natasha wasn’t actually superhuman either but she _practically_ was what with her laser-worthy glares and her immense, badass _Russianness_ ), but he certainly could handle himself. 

They watched, simultaneously impressed and horrified, as Clint dragged himself out of a burning building, blood dripping into his eyes and a pile of kittens clinging to his arms as if he stepped right out of the promotional advertisement for a blockbuster action film. 

Just the day before, Clint had twisted an ankle and bruised every single knuckle on his hands. This wasn't even to mention the dark purple bruises courtesy of Natasha’s ‘pull-no-punches’ sparring session that dotted his arms and abdomen like a dalmation’s eclectic spots. 

So, yeah, they took a step back this time. Instead of hovering and clinging and helping him into the tower, they simply supervised as a junior agent was assigned to help him from room to room (though, okay, Clint mostly just pushed away the agent and played vicious pranks on the unfortunate soul).

Through it all, through the chaos of Tony’s impromptu bartending and Thor’s raucous storytelling, through Steve’s quiet knitting (he had been knitting a quilt for a local shelter, ever the grandma), and Natasha’s loud commentary of channel surfing, Coulson was the only one who continued to hover. 

The junior agent cowered in the back of the room while Coulson made soup and medication timetables, threw blankets over his best agent. 

“ _Phil_ ,” Clint said softly after Coulson fussed with Clint's blanket for what was probably the 157th time in the last hour, wrapping a soft hand around his superior’s wrist, “You don’t have to do any of this.”

Coulson snorted, glared, and moved to check on the tea kettle he had left on the stove, “I know that, Barton. Go to sleep.”

Clint grinned goofily, “Whatever you say, boss.”

************** 

Hawkeye was announced MIA at 4:53 p.m. on July 17th.

Phil Coulson absolutely _flipped_ when he got the news. He showed actual, real human emotions, terrifying even some of the most experienced senior agents. The Avengers sat back and watched in stunned shock as Coulson entirely disregarded rule after rule and threw aside endless protocol for the safety of his best agent. It was so incredibly un-Coulson, that Steve innocently asked Tony about the modern possibilities of robotic acopocolypses, wondering if this strange rule-breaking entity was really a robot in a Coulson disguise. It most definitely was not likely (though that certainly gave Tony a very intriguing and dangerous idea).

And then of course a whole lot of shit hit a whole lot of fans for a whole lot of bad guys after that, because _helllllooooo_ , Phil Coulson. 

Clint was found the very next day. 

Phil was the one who singlehandedly dragged him out of the evil lair.

Tony started a rumor that Coulson got Clint back by threat of Death By Paperwork, but Clint drunkenly confided in Natasha later that night that he was saved by Coulson barging in and pulling on every ounce of training and badassery he had. 

************* 

After Clint’s brief stint in captivity thanks to the villain-of-the-week’s latest kidnapping attempt, he didn't do much: mostly just lounged around, doing nothing of sustenance or value (he was getting real tired of always being The Kidnapped Avenger).

Bruce watched from the doorway of the rec room as Clint sunk impassionately into the couch. He worried that Clint was becoming depressed and reclusive, sick maybe. 

But then Phil shuffled into the room, frowned meaningfully at Clint, and set himself to work. Phil fussed incessantly, even as Clint made faces and tried to get his handler to stop. Phil was relentless.

After an hour (with Bruce’s moral standards effectively lowered as he contemplated the pair from behind one of Tony’s security cameras, just as any good scientist conducting observations of two test subjects for an experiment would do), Bruce noted Clint’s rising mood. 

The archer was laughing by the end of his interaction with Phil, making paper airplanes and creating complicated courses and flips that ended with the obscure origami landing in Phil’s hair, and that’s not even to mention sarcastic comments galore. 

The Avengers had watched Clint sulk and bicker and complain for a week. An hour with Phil was Clint’s seeming panacea. 

From a scientist’s point of view that was certainly interesting. It was even more interesting from the point of view of a busybody billionaire superhero obsessed with his friends. 

 **********

Team Breakfast wasn't a difficult thing for Steve to institute. They all liked ( _tolerated?_ ) each other. And after The Clint Incident, they were in desperate need of some Team Bonding. Plus, they all really liked breakfast food, so that certainly helped. 

Exhaustion and camaraderie ( _understandably!_ ) often came hand-in-hand on the mornings after battles. 

Tony would enter the kitchen groaning theatrically and loudly cursing the villain-of-the-week even as he gravitated to the coffee pot like it held the secrets of the universe. Clint stretched excessively. Bruce drank _several_ mugs of tea, for his nerves. Natasha would seem the same, impassive as ever, except for the fact that her silence would linger more than usual and her glares would prove (only slightly) less effective. 

The superhumans, being Thor and Captain America, despite their sundry culinary ineptitudes, would thus take on the task of cooking, what with being the further healed and less injured. Thor struggled to understand the concepts of midgardian cuisine and Steve grappled with Tony’s high-tech cooking equipment. The injured and bruised heroes would (predictably) henceforth do their damndest to take over the entire breakfast. 

Phil found it all particularly entertaining.

That was, until Clint got a little too handsy with a toaster and got himself a nasty burn. 

“ _Yowch_!” Clint yelped loudly, the sound comically resembling the sound of Tom's howl due to Jerry’s cartoon retaliation. 

Phil promptly leapt into action, “Barton, put your finger under cold water. Do you want ice?” He hovered around Clint, examining the burn, “Here’s your coffee, right within reach. Shouldn't you be sitting? I’ll get you ice. You probably need ice.”

The Avengers watched in shock as Clint actually listened obediently (albeit a single eye roll when Coulson had his back turned). Tony made an incredulous face at Steve, who looked just as surprised and shrugged. 

Clint was the last person anybody expected to allow others to fuss over him, over the most minor of burns nonetheless, and yet here he was, with Phil pushing him into chairs and preparing his breakfast for him and trying to make everything easier. It was nearly unheard of, except… maybe not _so unheard of..._

“Here,” Phil said, stepping between the two of them and severing their questions, “Let me get the rest of your breakfast.”

********** 

“And where do you two think you’re going?” Coulson’s voice reverberated through the metallic walls of Avengers Tower.

Tony and Clint pivoted toward their handler as one, grimacing, “Snowball fight.” Stark answered, “Didn't think you’d like it if we tried to include you, Coulson.”

Phil rolled his eyes so far back that Tony briefly wondered if he would develop some medical condition, “Wearing _that_?”

The two superheroes looked down at their casual layers: single coats and single sweat pants and well-worn boots. Tony instinctively wanted to protest and argue about how he was a billionaire, superhero, philanthropist, blah blah blah, and he could dress however he damn well pleased, but Clint cut him off with an obnoxious groan and a freakishly adolescent eye roll.

“At least we’re not running around naked.”

Phil crossed his arms across his chest, “I’m getting you another coat. And you’re definitely putting another pair of pants on underneath those. And, Clint, if you put on the new boots, they’ll be more protective.” Coulson paused, frowned pensively, “And put on gloves.”

“But, _Phiiiiiiiiil_ ,” Clint complained (and Tony grimaced, it was always super weird to hear Clint and Natasha call Agent by his first name, like seeing your teacher out of school or finding out you’re in the Twilight Zone or something). 

“Don't, _Phil_ me, go change, Barton.”

Clint stomped away like a petulant child on the verge of tantrum, but went anyway. When Coulson found Tony looking at him expectantly, he paused, “What?”

“You’re not going to tell _me_ to put more layers on?”

“Oh, I couldn't care less about what you wear, Stark. As long as you aren’t naked, I’m fine.”

“Why did you care so much about bird brain’s snowball fighting gear, then?”

“Well, for one, you can suit up with one less finger, and Clint can’t. And I like him more.” Phil turned around with eerie resolve to doubtlessly return to mountains of paperwork.

An hour later, Tony was begging to come in from the cold, and Clint just threw another snowball (a perfect shot, of course). Clint wasn't cold at all. 

********** 

Tony stood in the center of the communal Avengers kitchen, eyes glued to Clint’s retreating back until the door shut behind him. He nodded, then clapped twice, “Alright, team meeting, Guys.”

Nobody moved, and Tony rolled his eyes, “I’m not going to force my tailor on you like last time, though Captain Ass-Merica over there sure looked damn fine in that suit.” Steve blushed faintly and Tony just smirked, “No, this is serious. It’s about Agent and Clint.”

That got their attention. Tony apparently hadn't been the only one to notice Phil’s weirdness when it came to their resident bird.

The Avengers gathered themselves around one of the large couches off of the kitchen and Tony began his weirdly rehearsed speech in true Tony fashion. 

“There’s something weird going on between bird brain and Agent Suit Monger, I swear.” He starts off the bat, entirely unprofessional and sarcastic. To reiterate, _true Tony fashion_. 

“Are we sure it’s not us that’s weird? That we’re not overthinking it? I mean, they’ve known each other for years.” Steve suggests rather unhelpfully and the expression Tony refutes with comically resembles what one would assume Tony Stark would make if he inadvertently swallowed a rock. 

“Then why isn’t Natasha all uptight like them, hmm? _Hmm_?”

All eyes turn to Natasha, but she wants nothing to do with the entire discussion. It is definitely not her business how evolved Phil and Clint’s relationship is, and frankly she doesn’t care. She loves Phil and she loves Clint, they’re the closest she’ll ever get to Family, and so she will appreciate them no matter what suspicions arise out of the Avengers, no matter how intriguing said opinions are. 

“Nuh-uh, I ain’t getting into this,” She said, then fell onto the couch to watch the chaos unfold. Tony took back the meeting, proceeding to come up with a plan to figure out the oddities of the peculiar Hawkeye/Agent relationship. 

Chaos, of course, continued to unfold. 

************

It’s a fairly known fact that a little broken leg means absolutely nothing to Clint Barton. It does, however, seem to mean quite a lot to Phil Coulson when linked to a certain arrow-shooting avenger. 

The Avengers backed off almost as soon as Clint had arrived back to the tower from the medics. They had learned long ago that something as inconsequential as a shattered bone does not stop Clint Barton from causing mischief if you put yourself on his bad side (and Tony still has the puckered scar on his left buttock to prove it). Phil, predictably, continues to hover despite the rest of the Avengers decision to let Clint be. 

Phil was just rushing frustratedly out of the room, scurrying away and scuffling his feet and murmuring underneath his breath something about ice packs and candles and double beef chili cheese curly fries and a lack of appreciation, when Cap poked his head into the room. 

He watched in surprise as the ever-composed Coulson rushed about like a rabid deer on steroids and caffeine. 

“Hey, Clint? Can I ask you something?” Cap asked, sitting beside Clint as the archer flipped noncommittally from channel to channel. 

Clint hummed in response. 

“Why does Coulson get so uptight around you when you’re hurt? He’s not like that with anybody else.”

Clint looks away from his channel flipping, something he rarely does, to face Cap, and he smiled, really genuinely smiled, “It’s his job, I guess. He does it well.”

It was easy to read what that sentence was saying. Coulson was Clint’s handler long before he was the Avengers Liaison, and that would always be part of his job description no matter his title. 

Cap relayed the interaction to the rest of the Avengers. It all made complete sense. Phil had always taken his role as handler of Team Delta very seriously, so seriously that maybe some residual protectiveness over his sniper remained after all that time. The Avengers all unanimously agreed that they could put an end to the question, they had their answer. 

The only problem was that they were completely off base. Oh boy, there was so much that they didn’t know. 

*********** 

Phil Coulson was (arguably, depending on whether you asked his big sister or a junior agent) a robot. Robots did not get hurt. That was, unless said robot wasn't actually a robot and got hurt on an idiotic mission that he wasn't supposed to be on. In that case, robots got hurt.

When Phil pulled himself out of the lake, skin tingling and clothes feeling like they weighed just about 500 pounds, he was greeted by the sight of five harried Avengers, all glaring daggers in his direction. 

Phil was still panting, coughing at the water that managed its way into his lungs as he settled himself onto the cool, sturdy wood of the dock. The Avengers just stared disappointedly at him.

“You shouldn’t have gone in alone, sir.” Steve said, his voice heavy of Disappointed Captain America.

“Never thought you would do something so-” Stark was cut off by Clint ferociously tearing into the semi-circle the Avengers had formed around their handler. He was glaring and angry, more serious and less joke-cracking than the Avengers had ever seen him.

“What the _literal hell_ , Phil?!” He screeched, “What in the world were you thinking? Have you gone insane? Did you spar with Natasha again and get your head knocked in?”

Bruce grimaced, “Clint, that’s a little much, come on.”

“ _No_. No, no, no, no, _no_.” Clint replied, seemingly enraged, “You guys do not get to be reasonable! I am allowed to be angry right now!”

They all really would have argued with him if Clint wasn't turning alarming shades of red and Phil hadn't wrapped a hand around Clint’s wrist.

Clint tugged at Phil’s clothes, pulling on his collar and checking the skin of his abdomen, etc. If they thought that Phil had a tendency to fuss, he had nothing on Clint. Clint was something of a ferocious mix between a Rottweiler and a grandma. It was frankly terrifying. 

“You’re an idiot, Phil.” Clint said, wrapping an arm underneath his handler’s shoulders, “Come on, let’s get you to Medical and make sure you didn't kill yourself or something.”

The Avengers watched as Phil went willingly. 

Nobody saw anything of Phil or Clint for a good hour after that. There were more important things, like PR and cleanup and damage control and other boring SHIELD things that they didn't usually concern themselves with. 

“Have you seen Agent Coulson, m’am?” Steve asked Agent Hill later, the Avengers huddling patiently behind him after all their tasks had been fulfilled. 

She didn't even look away from the junior agents obviously about to screw up horribly ten yards away from her. Maria waved noncommittally in the general direction of an ambulance, “He and Barton are in an ambulance getting checked out.”

Despite her lack of attention, Steve nodded politely (Tony rolls his eyes at that, manners are overrated), “Thank you, m’am.”

They all expect to find Coulson getting enthusiastically bandaged up or something of the like. They most definitely did not expect to find Clint standing between Phil’s legs, peppering fervent kisses along a blasé Phil’s sharp jawline, thankfully unbruised after his regrettable little stint in the water. 

“Oh good God!” Stark yelled, with about as little sensitivity or subtly as a whale out of water, “My _eyes_!”

Clint pulled away from Phil, still tugging at the wet collar of his shirt, and frowned, “What are you doing, Stark?”

“Shouldn't I be the one asking _you_ that question?”

“Well, since my name isn't Stark…”

“Not what I meant and you know it, birdbrain.”

Steve smartly cut in then before things devolved like the last time Clint was called birdbrain, “Are you two-”

“A couple?” Tony incredulously finished for him

Phil wrapped an arm around Clint’s waist, “You guys didn't notice?”

Bruce tried to form a decent response but he couldn't seem to pry his eyes away from where Phil’s arm was wrapped comfortably around Clint’s waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Natasha just rolled her eyes like she knew it the whole damn time. _She totally didn't._

“Wait, seriously?” Clint chortled, “We weren't exactly trying to hide it.”

Steve blushed distinctly and Tony went just a little bug-eyed.

“Guys,” Clint laughed, “Phil and I have been married for three years now, and not one of you has noticed? Babe,” He said, turning to Phil with a barking laugh, “I think this means we may have to turn up the PDA. People might get the wrong idea.”

Phil honest-to-god laughed, even as Clint kissed him and Stark made obscene noises of disgust.

“Wait,” Tony frowned, “So that’s why Phil always freaks out whenever Clint gets hurt or whatever?”

Phil laughs, "Yeah, what did you think? That I just treated him different for no reason?”

Steve looked sheepish, “It doesn't matter,” He said (a total cop out if you asked Clint), “But we know now. Congratulations, you two.”

Phil laughed and Clint kissed him again, “Thanks.”

Bruce chimed in with an identical congratulations and Thor hollered out a short and rather emblazoned speech of pride and joy for his compatriots’ bound of honor and love (or something along those lines, he kept accidentally breaking out into Asgardian so it was difficult to understand). 

Tony just crossed his arms like a stubborn child, “ _Whatever_.”


End file.
